


Evanesco

by Robottko



Series: Incantations [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Eventual Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Gen, Gryffindor John, Hogwarts First Year, Invisibility, Kidlock, M/M, Magic, Potterlock, Ravenclaw Sherlock, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-17 19:52:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4679213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robottko/pseuds/Robottko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The Vanishing Spell (Evanesco) is a Transfiguration spell used to vanish both animate and inanimate objects "into non-being, which is to say, everything".</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sherlock Holmes has been waiting to go to Hogwarts since Mycroft started five years previous. Of course, not everything at Hogwarts is fun and games, especially when students begin to vanish out of thin air. In a school full of wizards, anyone could be a suspect...or a victim.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <b>Year one</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Honourable mention](http://fuckyeahteenlock.tumblr.com/post/133165241968/back-to-school-contest-honourable-mention) of [Fuck Yeah Teenlock's](http://fuckyeahteenlock.tumblr.com/) [Back to School contest](http://fuckyeahteenlock.tumblr.com/post/127663849488/fuckyeahteenlocks-back-to-school-contest) 2015!

The scarlet steam engine of the Hogwarts Express let out a shrill whistle as people poured into platform 9 3/4. Students chattered excitedly as their haggard parents followed behind them.  Cats twisted expertly between legs, and owls flew overhead as they filled the cavernous space with their squawks.

Mycroft looked bored, as he always did. Sherlock did his best to copy his mannerisms, but over and over he would catch himself grinning stupidly. He had been waiting to go to Hogwarts since older brother had started six years previous, and the excitement was almost unbearable. 

"Look at you both," Their mother's voice said behind them, and both Sherlock and Mycroft turned to look at her. Violet Holmes, like Mycroft, had been a Slytherin, and she wore green and silver robes in honour of the occasion. "Both my boys at Hogwarts at last. Oh, I'm so proud of you both."

Mycroft smiled at her, brushing invisible dust from his Prefect badge. "While I'd love to have one last chat, I'm afraid I must make my way to the prefect carriage."

"You can't stick around for one last goodbye?" Their father, Siger asked as he came through the platform, a black and yellow Hufflepuff tie peeking out from the collar of his jumper. 

"I'm afraid not," Mycroft sighed. "I have a lot to do before next year if I want to become Head Boy."

"Oh, you're practically guaranteed to be Head Boy," Siger said dismissively. 

"I thank you for your confidence, but I'd rather not risk it, if it's all the same to you." Mycroft gave Violet a quick hug. After a handshake with Siger, he was on his way. He disappeared through the crowd so quickly that Sherlock would have thought Mycroft aparated, had he not failed his test earlier that year. 

"Your first year at Hogwarts," Violet said, fussing with Sherlock's riot of curls. "You'll have so much fun, I promise. Lot's to learn, of course."

"A regular Ravenclaw, this one," Siger added, beaming down at Sherlock. 

"Oh, I don't know. He could be a Slytherin like his mummy," Violet replied with a wink. "So ambitious, too!"

"Will you be happy?" Sherlock asked, feeling nervous all a sudden. "If I don't get into Ravenclaw or Slytherin?"

"Of course we will, darling!" Violet said, pressing a kiss to Sherlock's forehead. "Even if you're a Gryffindor. You'll be the best there was."

"Thank you, mummy." Sherlock stepped away from her ministrations, giving his father a quick hug before lugging his trunk into the Hogwarts Express. 

He found an empty compartment that faced the platform, and after hoisting his trunk into the rack, he thrust his arm out the window to wave frantically at his parents just as the train gave one last whistle.

The Hogwarts Express lurched as it began to move, slowly pulling away from platform 9 3/4. Sherlock waved until he could no longer see his father or mother, and continued to wave for an extra minute or so just for good measure. It wasn't until Kings Cross was no longer visible that Sherlock pulled his arm in, feeling suddenly alone. 

The door to Sherlock's compartment slid open, and Sherlock looked up to see a girl around his own age, her brown hair twisted back into a pony tail and a nervous expression on her face.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but all the other compartments are taken. I was wondering..." She trailed off, looking at the empty seat in front of Sherlock with hope. 

"Go ahead," Sherlock said with a wave of his hand, "There's no one sitting there."

"Oh, thank you so much!" The girl beamed at him, dragging her trunk into the compartment and placing it next to Sherlock's. "My name is Molly Hooper. It's nice to meet you!"

"Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock replied, giving her hand that was thrust rather close to his face a quick shake.

"I've read everything there is to know on Hogwarts," Molly said as she sat down across from Sherlock. "I think I've practically memorized  _Hogwarts, a history_. Did you know that they enchant the Great Hall to look like the sky outside?"

"Of course," Sherlock replied with a shrug. "My family has all gone to Hogwarts."

"Oh," Molly slumped, looking a bit defeated. "Both my parents are...well, I suppose you call them Muggles. I fear I have a lot to learn."

"Nonsense, you'll be great," a voice interrupted, causing both Molly and Sherlock to jump. 

A blond haired boy stood in the doorway to their carriage, clad in a red and gold Gryffindor jumper and a kind smile.

"Who are you?" Sherlock asked rather rudely.

"Right, sorry about that. The name is John Watson," The boy said, sitting down next to Sherlock. "Gryffindor second year, and a muggleborn, may I add."

"Oh, you're a muggleborn too?" Molly asked, looking far more hopeful. "Is it hard, trying to catch up with everyone?"

"Nah, everyone is practically on the page," John said with a wave of his hand. "You'll be caught up within a few days."

"Oh, good," Molly sighed, looking relieved.

"It's true," Sherlock confirmed. "Most people are idiots."

Both Molly and John looked at Sherlock in surprise, then John began to grin.

"Idiots, huh?" He asked. "Are you some kind of genius?"

"Yes." Sherlock said simply. 

John chuckled at that. It was a pleasant and kind laugh, and it made Sherlock feel warm inside. "Well, mister genius, I don't have your name."

"Sherlock Holmes," He replied.

"Holmes?" John's eyebrows raised. "So that's why you seem familiar. You talk just like your brother."

Sherlock would never admit it, but he felt a glowing sense of pride at the comparison. Mycroft may be insufferable, but he was also intelligent; something Sherlock strived to be. 

"Yes, that is my brother," Sherlock replied. "And yours is addicted to butterbeer."

"What?" John looked at Sherlock with a blank expression, blinking a few times.

"Your brother. A Gryffindor like yourself, I'm assuming a fifth year. He's addicted to butterbeer, did you know?"

"I...yes. How on earth did  _you_  know?" John was still looking a bit dazed, and Sherlock wondered if he was going to hit him.

"Obvious. Your jumper is a hand-me-down. It's only recently out of style, so that means your brother can't be too much older than you. Judging by how slight you are, and taking that into consideration for your brother, I would guess he's about fifteen or sixteen. There are a few light stains around the cuffs, too light to be firewhiskey, too dark to be carbonated soda. It's not a bad thing to be addicted to. Much like cheering charms, it causes a pleasant warmth to fill you, but it can spread over to other addictions if it's given enough time."

Sherlock turned in his seat so that he could watch John closely. If he was going to get punched in the face, he might as well see it coming.

"John! We got a carriage up front!" A voice said, and Sherlock looked up to see a Gryffindor and Hufflepuff standing in the doorway, both wearing matching smiles. "Stop flirting with all the cute first year girls and let’s go!"

Molly, whom Sherlock had forgotten momentarily, blushed a bright red as John stood. He followed the other two boys after giving Sherlock one last curious glance, an odd expression on his face.

“That was a bit rude,” Molly said after a moment.

“Was it?” Sherlock asked mildly.

“Yes,” Molly said. “Most people don’t like it when you reveal their secrets. It embarrasses them.”

“They should learn not to be embarrassed, then.” Sherlock retorted.

Molly only shook her head, giving Sherlock a fond smile that reminded him of his mother. Perhaps she would be an okay person to keep around, after all.

 

*****

 

The rest of the journey to Hogwarts was fairly uneventful, as Molly kept Sherlock from doing anything too troublesome. So when the train finally ground to a halt, Sherlock was practically leaping out of his seat in boredom.

"Excited for the sorting?" Molly asked, giggling at Sherlock's impatience.  

"Not really," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I already know what house I'm going to be in."

"You do?" Molly asked, her eyes wide. "I wish I did."

"You're going to be a Hufflepuff," Sherlock declared. "It's easy, if you know what to look for."

Molly looked pleased at Sherlock's pronouncement, and she followed him out of the train, practically skipping as she went. 

"Firs' years! Firs years, gather roun'!" A booming voice said, and Sherlock and Molly turned to see a man that had to be at  _least_  half giant looming over all the students. Several older students waved at him, calls of  _'hey Hagrid'_  intermingled in the sounds of thousands of shuffling feet. 

Sherlock and Molly walked over to Hagrid, pushing through the crowds going the opposite way. Sherlock turned to look, noticing groups getting into horseless carriages that lead them, presumably, to the school. 

 _How will we be getting there, then?_  Sherlock wondered as the other first years fell in line.

As if answering his unasked question, the group came to a halt in front of a great lake, small boats lining the shoreline in front of them. 

"Four to a boat!" Hagrid called, and they all clamoured to find a boat. Sherlock had hoped to get a boat to himself, but Molly joined him almost immediately, followed by another boy and girl. They both had dark hair, the boy's was slicked back, and the girls coiled in an elegant bun on the back of her head. 

"Hello there!" Molly said cheerfully. "I'm Molly Hooper. It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise." The boy drawled in a soft, lilting Irish accent. "Jim Moriarty."

"Irene Adler." The girl introduced herself, shaking Molly's hand.

Jim and Irene then looked to Sherlock expectantly, and Sherlock raised an eyebrow at them, debating on whether he planned to answer. Molly cleared her throat pointedly, and Sherlock gave a heaving sigh before raising his hand as well.

"Sherlock Holmes." 

"Holmes?" Jim looked intrigued. "Your mother wouldn't happen to be Violet Holmes, would she?"

"The very same," Sherlock said. 

"She's made some of the greatest strides in arithmancy in our time!" Jim said, looking excited. "I hear if you take arithmancy at Hogwarts, one of her books is required."

"Several of them are, actually," Sherlock said, feeling rather impressed with this boy. Most people their age couldn't care less about arithmancy, let alone know the magicians behind the formulas.

"Oh look! It's Hogwarts!" Molly said, effectively cutting off anything else Jim wanted to say. She pointed at something just behind Sherlock, and he turned to see a castle looming above the lake.

Sherlock had seen Hogwarts in pictures, of course; His entire family had been to school there, after all, but there was something different seeing it in real life. Windows glittered cheerfully across the walls of the stone castle, reflecting on the surface of the lake below.  Towers rose up towards the sky, giving the castle an imposing look, and Sherlock could see that the large doors had been opened in greeting.

"Welcome t' Hogwarts." Hagrid's booming voice carried easily over the water. "Best wizarding school in th' whole world!"

Their boats bumped against the shore, and they clamoured out before making their way towards the great doors. 

A woman stood there waiting for them, her expression severe. Sherlock had a feeling that that was her normal expression, and that this was a woman he should avoid crossing.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, I am Professor McGonagall,” the woman said. "In just a few minutes you will be sorted into one of four houses. While at Hogwarts, your house will be like a family to you. You will eat with your house, live with your house, and learn with your house. If you follow the rules, your house will gain points. Any rule breaking will lose your house points. At the end of the term, whichever house has the most points will win the house cup. Follow me." 

The first years followed Professor McGonagall into the castle. Several gasped audibly as they caught sight of the grand entryway. 

They were led to a smaller room just off The Great Hall, filing in slowly. It was at that point that Sherlock heard someone whispering his name.

"Sherlock!" 

Sherlock turned to look, expecting to see Mycroft. It was John who stood behind him, however.

"I...hello," Sherlock said, blinking up at him. 

"Sorry, I know you're about to be sorted, and everything, but I need to know how you did that thing...you know, on the train?"

"What, my deduction?" Sherlock asked, feeling a bit lost.

"Yeah, that!" John nodded frantically. "How did you know all that?"

"I didn’t  _know_ , I  _saw_." Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

"What you did...seeing or whatever. That was amazing!"

Sherlock, who had mentally prepared for a rude remark, completely froze. He blinked several times, trying to figure out if he had heard John correctly.

"You think so?" Sherlock asked.

"Of course I do! It was brilliant!" John beamed at him, and Sherlock felt quite warm.

"That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?"

"Get away from me, you weirdo. Or something along those lines." Sherlock said.

John laughed at that, clapping Sherlock on the shoulder as if was an old friend. 

"You aren't a weirdo, Sherlock. You're one of the most brilliant people I've ever met. Now I gotta go. They want us all to be seated before you lot can be sorted. See ya later!"

As John walked off waving, the warm glow in Sherlock's stomach grew. Perhaps Hogwarts would be even better than he thought. If people like John attended, he wouldn't care which house he got sorted into.

Even Gryffindor.


	2. Chapter 2

Less than five minutes later, McGonagall returned for them. She led them out of the room and into The Great Hall. 

Every head swivelled to look at them, and Sherlock fought the instinct to hide behind the kid in front of him.

Mycroft sat primly at the Slytherin table on the far end of the hall. The other Slytherins clustered around him, but Mycroft paid them no mind. He focused his entire attention on Sherlock instead, looking strangely...proud, and Sherlock figured he was seeing things. 

Sherlock turned his head to look at the Gryffindor table, unable to contain his grin when he saw John wave at him. Sherlock gave him a small wave in return before turning to face the front of the Great Hall.

Professor McGonagall stood before them, a three legged stool with a dirty looking wizard's hat next to her. It sat completely motionless for a few moment before a large rip at the rim opened, and it began to sing:

 

_Welcome students, new and old_

_to a year of learning._

_Students waiting to be sorted_

_I'll try to be discerning._

 

_Of the Hogwarts houses four_

_one shall be your home._

_To learn, to play, and to grow_

_through the years you'll roam._

 

_Do you belong in Gryffindor_

_the chivalrous and brave?_

_Gryffindor's are full of daring,_

_and adventures they do crave._

 

_Or how about good kind Hufflepuff,_

_the stubborn and the loyal?_

_You'll find them a hardworking lot,_

_where friendships never soil._

 

_Perhaps you'll go to Ravenclaw_

_the witty and the wise._

_With the knowledge you will learn,_

_you can reach the skies._

 

_And lastly there is Slytherin,_

_those with high ambitions,_

_Their cunning and resourcefulness_

_makes them powerful magicians._

 

_So try me on, and I will peek_

_into your fresh, young minds._

_Don't fret too much, my young wards,_

_I promise to be kind._

 

The Great Hall was silent for a moment before bursting into applause. The hat settled back onto the stool, looking once again like a worn out old wizards hat.

McGonagall conjured a scroll, letting it levitate in front of her as she read off the names.

"Adler, Irene!"

Irene stepped forward, sitting down on the stool with what appeared to be great confidence. But before the sorting hat slipped over her eyes, Sherlock saw just how nervous she was. 

The sorting hat took its time before declaring her a Slytherin, to which the table on the far left burst into applause. Irene hopped off the stool, and looking relieved, she joined her fellow Slytherins.

"Anderson, Phillip" Became a Ravenclaw, to which the table on the right burst into applause. It was after that Sherlock lost track, their group slowly dwindling. Student after student made their way up to the Sorting Hat. Sometimes the hat would make a decision, other times it would take a while. Mycroft told Sherlock that it had taken the Sorting Hat five minutes to sort him, something that had made him oddly proud.

"Holmes, Sherlock."

He started when his name was called, making his way up to the stool. He sat, taking in the whole of the Great Hall staring at him before the hat slipped over his eyes.

**_Ah, another Holmes._** A voice said in his head.  ** _You lot were always hard to sort._**

Sherlock's eyes widened rather uselessly when he realised that the sorting hat was talking to him.

**_Now where to put you. You've got a brilliant mind like your mother, great ambition like your brother, and fierce loyalty to those you care about like your father._ **

_Gryffindor wouldn't be bad either,_ Sherlock suggested, which caused the sorting hat to laugh. 

**_While you certainly have a brave streak, Gryffindor is not for you. Nor are you a Hufflepuff._ **

_Don't put me in Slytherin,_  Sherlock warned, I’d _have to put up with my brother, and I would never forgive you!_

The sorting hat chuckled once again.  ** _Well then, better be-_**

"Ravenclaw!" It shouted aloud, and Sherlock let out a breath of relief. He hoped off the stool, joining the table clad in blue and bronze. 

Sitting down, he managed to catch John's eye. John looked a bit disappointed, but he gave Sherlock a thumbs up anyway.  Sherlock's heart swelled in his chest, pleased that John still wanted to be his friend even if he wasn't a Gryffindor.

"Hooper, Molly." Was next, and the sorting hat made a decision quickly, sorting her into Hufflepuff. She beamed, waving at Sherlock when he gave her a smug look. 

The rest of the sorting passed slowly, not that Sherlock bothered paying attention. He caught various names and houses, of course. It was hard to ignore the ridiculous cheering when "Moriarty, James" became Slytherin, or "Morstan, Mary" became Gryffindor.

After what felt like ages, "Witte, Oliver" was sorted into Ravenclaw, and the feast began. Perhaps it was the large quantities of food that had Sherlock chatting amicably with his neighbours, but when he fell into his blue four-poster bed that night, he knew that it had been one of the best days of his life. 

 

*****

 

Classes started the following day, something Sherlock had waited a long time for. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays he had Potions and Transfiguration with the Hufflepuffs, and Charms with the Slytherins. History of magic, Herbology and flying lessons were shared with Gryffindors.

It was no surprise to anyone that Sherlock quickly became best in his classes. Everything but flying, that was. For some reason, he just couldn't get the knack of it. It was something that his classmates found particularly amusing. 

It was the second weekend after classes started that found Sherlock up in the owlery. Mycroft had been pestering him since they arrived to write to their parents, and Sherlock had refused just to spite Mycroft. But he found himself rather homesick, so he took up his quill and penned a letter to his mother.

He entered the owlery on a Saturday morning, frowning at the vast array of owls to choose from. Some turned away when he offered his letter to them. 

"Won't any of you take my letter?" Sherlock huffed after the eighth owl turned away. He stomped his foot in annoyance. "Oh, come  _on_ -ow!"

An owl, annoyed at his action, nipped at his ankle. It didn't draw blood, but only just.

"Gustav!" A boy wearing a blue and bronze Ravenclaw scarf made Sherlock jump. His skin was a dark brown, and his black hair was perfectly coiffed. "God, I am so sorry! He's usually so well behaved. Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine." Sherlock responded.

"Are you sure?" The boy asked. "It looks like he nipped you pretty hard."

"It'll be fine," Sherlock said, brushing off his concern. "It'll take barely three seconds to heal with the right charm."

"That's true," The boy said. "Were you in need of an owl? Gustav will help you."

"I'm not so sure," Sherlock said eyeing the owl with trepidation.

"He will," The boy said again. "Sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock said, still watching the owl.

"Nice to meet you," the boy said, pulling the letter out of Sherlock's hand while he was distracted. "I'm Victor Trevor. Second year Ravenclaw."

Victor tied the letter to Gustav's leg, guiding him out the window. The owl took off, quickly disappearing around the curve of the tower.

"Say, how do you feel about house pride?" Victor asked, causing Sherlock to frown. 

"I see no point in it," Sherlock admitted. "Why?"

"Well, I'm the new seeker of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, and we have a game next week." Victor flashed him a smile. "And we need all the Ravenclaws we can get to cheer on the team."

"Who are you playing?"

Victor made a face. "Gryffindor."

 

*****

 

Sherlock hadn't spoken with John since he had gotten sorted, but that was to be expected. They weren't in the same house, or in the same year, so their paths never really crossed. So when John pulled Sherlock aside in the library, it was most surprising to say the least. 

"I got on to the team!" John said excitedly, baffling Sherlock for a moment. 

"Team?"

"The Gryffindor Quidditch team!" John beamed.

"Oh, yes. Right. Chaser?" Sherlock asked.

"Of course," John grinned at him. "I'm not even gonna ask how you know."

"Why are you telling me this?" Sherlock asked. "Not that I don't want to know, but-"

"Well, I was sorta hoping that you'll come," John said, suddenly bashful. "I mean, I know we're playing Ravenclaw, and so you'll want to cheer for them. I just want all my friends to be there."

"Friends?" Sherlock said, blinking rapidly. But John didn’t hear him, already racing away. 

"See ya later, Sherlock!" He called, earning a frown from Madam Pince.

 

*****

 

The Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw game was unbearably hot, and Sherlock regretted his decision to wear his scarf to the game.

John was undeniably good at Quidditch, scoring several points right away. The Ravenclaw keeper couldn't keep up with John, who swooped through the players as if he had been playing forever. A few times Sherlock caught himself cheering with the Gryffindors, not that he was the only one; several Ravenclaws were getting elbowed by their neighbours for the exact same reason. 

Of course, when Victor broke into a dive, the Ravenclaws quickly remembered where their loyalties lay. They screamed as his fingers closed around the snitch, winning the game by only ten points. 

Sherlock weaved his way out of the cheering crowd, climbing down the stands rather quickly. The Gryffindor team was walking off the pitch dejectedly, their brooms dragging along the soft grass. John received a few pats on the back from other Gryffindors, but he didn't seem to register them.

"John!" Sherlock called out.

John looked up, his eyes wide as Sherlock walked over to him. "You came."

"You asked me to."

"I didn't think you would," John admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. They had stopped in the middle of the field, the rest of the team continuing on. "And we lost."

"You did well."

"But we  _lost_ ," John repeated, looking devastated. 

"But you still did well," Sherlock shuffled, unsure of how to proceed. "You fly...good. I can't fly at all."

"You can't?" John frowned. 

"No. My classmates think it's hilarious." Sherlock said.

"I can teach you," John said, looking much happier than he had a few minutes ago. "If you'd like."

"I...would. Thank you." Sherlock smiled at John, who beamed back. 

"Great! Tomorrow at seven work for you?"

"Sure."

"See you then." John waved, then made his way towards the changing rooms. Sherlock waved back, a bit belatedly.

"See you then." He repeated.

 

*****

 

The best crimes are committed when everyone is distracted. It was during the Quidditch game that third year Slytherin Susan Marlowe vanished, leaving no trace of where she had gone.

It was simply as if she had never existed at all.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock didn't hear about the disappearance until three days later. Apparently Susan Marlowe was a good student who had been well liked by everyone. She had never been given detention, and no one really disliked her. There were no clear motives as to why Marlowe had vanished, or how.

"Isn't it exciting?" Sherlock asked John as they made their way to the pitch that evening. John had had to cancel their flying lesson earlier that week for an emergency Quidditch practice, which turned out to be in Sherlock's favour. It had down poured that afternoon, and the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team had turned up to dinner soaked to the bone. 

"Isn't what exciting?" John asked with a grin, his Cleansweep 7 slung across his shoulders.

"That Slytherin girl disappearing," Sherlock said with a roll of his eyes. "You know, the thing everyone is talking about?"

"How is it exciting?" John laughed. "There's a girl missing."

"That's precisely it!" Sherlock said with glee. "There's a girl missing, and no one knows where she went, or why. It's the perfect crime."

"Crime?" John frowned as they stopped in front of the shed that held the school brooms. Sherlock grabbed the best broom he could find, which happened to be a Shooting Star that looked like a large animal had chewed on it a bit. "Who said anything about a crime? I thought she just ran away."

"Nonsense, John. There's a crime here waiting to be solved." 

"Well, solving crimes can wait," John grinned at him. "We're going to learn how to fly first."

Without warning, John kicked off from the pitch, soaring high into the air. Sherlock watched him from the ground, feeling nervous. 

"Come on up, Sherlock!" John called, waving at him. 

Sherlock sighed, mounting his broom clumsily. He mimicked John's kick off, though his ascent was nothing to be proud of. His broom wobbled dangerously as he reached John.

"Good," John praised. "Very good. Now, follow me."

John started to slowly circle the pitch, Sherlock trailing close behind him. They did a few laps, and Sherlock started to feel at ease, his movements becoming more smooth and sure.  When John picked up speed, Sherlock managed to keep pace, only wobbling a little bit here and there. 

They circled higher and higher, until they flew above the goal posts. John pulled back so that he was flying next to Sherlock, and they soared around the pitch several times in silence. It was beautiful up here, with the lake glittering in the distance. The Forbidden Forest was an imposing wall of trees. Even from this height, Sherlock couldn't see the end of it. 

"Alright, I think that's enough for today," John said. "Unless you wanna try some dives."

"No thank you," Sherlock squeaked. His broom shook a bit, and John reached out to steady it.

"Careful. I swear these things can smell fear." John grinned. "Come on, we'll land gently today." 

After landing on the soft grass, Sherlock placed the Shooting Star back into the shed. Then, he and John made their way back to the castle, chatting happily the whole way.

 

*****

 

"Sherlock?" The confused voice of John Watson broke through his thoughts. "What are you doing here?"

Sherlock blinked, looking around the Gryffindor common room. He had snuck in around 3 o'clock that morning, unable to fall asleep.

"I'm thinking," Sherlock replied with a shrug.

"Yes, but why here?" John asked, looking rather amused. Besides the two of them, the common room was completely empty. Breakfast didn’t start for another two hours, so everyone was getting much needed rest.

"I couldn't sleep, and I was curious about the entrance to the Gryffindor common room."

"What do you mean?" John looked confused.

"Well, there are rumours going around that you have to test your bravery to gain access." Sherlock replied, ducking his head in embarrassment. "I am  _very_ relieved that I didn't have to wrestle a griffin."

John stared at Sherlock for a few seconds before bursting into laughter.

"Me too, mate. Me too," John chuckled. "We don't have to worry about Griffins until year five."

Sherlock's eyes widened momentarily, before realizing that John was joking.

"Hilarious," he said drily.

John grinned, sitting down opposite of Sherlock. "Now, are you going to tell me what you're doing here, or am I supposed to guess?"

"The disappearance, of course!" Sherlock said, tapping his foot. "I can't get it out of my head. I know it wasn’t an accident."

"How can you be sure?"

"There would be a trail to follow. Susan Marlowe is only 13. Even the most talented wizards leave a trail behind, magical or what have you. But Marlowe..."

"She just stopped existing," John finished for him, looking grim.

"Unfortunately there isn't a lot I can do. Any trace that would have been left behind is long gone." Sherlock said.

"So now what?" John asked, sitting in the squashy armchair across from Sherlock.

"Now we wait."

 

*****

 

The next day at lunch, John sat down next to Sherlock at the Ravenclaw table, causing a majority of the Great Hall to stop and stare.

"I just talked to a friend of yours," John said by way of greeting. Sherlock looked over at him, surprised by how ruffled he seemed.

"A friend?" Sherlock asked, looking surprised. He didn't have many of them, and none that could cause that reaction.

"Enemy. Your arch enemy, according to him."

"Ah." Sherlock rolled his eyes. When would Mycroft stop sticking his nose into everything he did?

"Listen, I don't know what you did to piss off a Slytherin prefect, but you had better be careful. He seems dangerous."

"He is probably the most dangerous wizard you will possibly meet," Sherlock agreed. "Don't worry, if he hurts you, I'll tell mummy."

"Mummy?" John looked confused. "But...he's your  _brother_?”

"Unfortunately," Sherlock confirmed.

"He asked me to  _spy_  on you!" John whispered fiercely, leaning forward so no one else could hear.  "What kind of brother is he?"

"Alright now, get up." A voice said, causing both Sherlock and John to look around.

A fifth year Ravenclaw prefect was glaring at the two of them, his watery eyes narrowed behind wire rimmed glasses.

"What?" John asked blankly.

"Aren't you supposed to be eating with your own house?" The prefect asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Sherlock struggled to recall his name, having promptly forgotten as soon as he learned it that first night.

"I don't recall there being rules about where we can sit, Hop." Sherlock said primly.

"It's  _Hope_ , Holmes. Jeff Hope. Now get back to your table, or I’ll take points from Gryffindor."

"But-"

"Now!" Hope said, looking pleased when John stood. He turned back to his food, but Sherlock could see him watching out of the corner of his eye.

"I'll see you later," John said. "And no more siccing your brother on me."

"No guarantees," Sherlock grinned. "He's too nosy for his own good."

 

*****

 

Several weeks passed, and nobody could figure out what happened to Susan Marlowe. Students continued on with their lives, slowly feeling safe to roam about the castle again. Even Sherlock had given up the hunt, spending his hours in the library chatting with John, (much to the chagrin of Madam Pince.)

It was a blustery day in mid-October when sixth year Hufflepuff Gordon Newartz vanished. His friends watched as he left the common room and never returned. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to. You would cry too if you _forgot to update your fics for two freaking years..._

It was purely by chance that Sherlock managed to find out about the disappearance of Gordon Newartz. He had been reading in the library late that night (far past curfew) when Professor McGonagall came rushing in, looking a bit ruffled. Of course, Sherlock had managed to discover that no one would find him if he tucked himself between the bookshelves and the wall, and he could spend hours longer reading various books. It was beneficial for spying, as well.  

"Another student has gone missing," McGonagall said as soon as she saw Madam Pince. 

"Oh no," Madam Pince shook her head, "who was it this time?"

"A sixth year Hufflepuff named Gordon Newartz," McGonagall said. "He disappeared an hour ago."

"What happened?" Madam Pince said. "He was such a sweetheart, always tucked in the corner armchair with a book."

"We don't know," McGonagall said. "There's no reason for him to have left, no one that has anything against him. Nothing."

"He disappeared the same way Susan Marlowe did?" Madam Pince asked.

"Exactly the same," McGonagall confirmed. 

Sherlock waited until both adults disappeared before wriggling out of his spot and making his way up to Gryffindor tower. He knew he needed to tell John all about what he had heard.

 

*****

 

"Another one?" John asked as they snuck out of his John's dormitory into the common room below. "You'd think the professors would know who it was by now!"

"They're idiots, John," Sherlock said. 

"They're  _professors_!" John replied, looking scandalized. 

"Even professors can be idiots," Sherlock said. "They see what's happening, but they're not  _observing_."

"And you think  _you_ could observe better?" John asked.

"Yes," Sherlock said simply. 

"Yeah, you probably could," John agreed. "You saw my sister's butterbeer problem, and you never even  _met_ her."

Sherlock shot John a pleased smile, wriggling ever so slightly in the red and gold armchair. "It was nothing special."

"Of course it was special," John snorted. "Now, what can we do about these vanishing students?"

"Who do we trust automatically, even when we don't know them?" Sherlock mused. "Who can wander the corridors and we don't even notice them?"

"Er...I dunno. Who?" John asked.

"I have no idea," Sherlock said.

 

*****

 

Autumn fell upon the castle quickly, and winter followed soon after, and before Sherlock knew it, Christmas break was upon them. He had pleaded with mummy to stay at the castle, but even Mycroft had to come home.

Sherlock was so busy pouting that he didn't even notice Victor Trevor in his compartment until the trolley witch tapped on the door.

"Nothing for me-oh!" Sherlock said, blinking at Victor, whose nose was currently buried in a book.

"Me either, thanks," Victor said, looking up long enough to flash her a smile. "One of the prefects gave me some Christmas sweets already."

He patted the box of chocolates next to him, which already had a few pieces missing.

"Alright then, dears. If you need anything, let me know!" The trolley witch said before shuffling off.

"You look surprised," Victor said, looking amused.

"I didn't realise anyone was in here," Sherlock shrugged.

"You came to my Quidditch game," Victor said, "That means we're friends now."

"Oh," Sherlock replied eloquently. 

"Do you want some chocolate?" Victor asked, holding the box out to Sherlock.

"I'm fine, thank you," Sherlock said. "John gave me five chocolate frogs to make me feel better about having to go home."

"John?" Victor frowned. "John who?"

"John Watson," Sherlock replied. "He's a Gryffindor."

"Oh!" Recognition flared in Victor's eyes. "I know him. He's pretty cool."

Sherlock felt a surge of pride for his friend, and he settled back into his seat to watch Victor pop another chocolate into his mouth.

Victor made a face at the taste, but swallowed the sweet anyway. "That tasted a bit odd."

"The rest of them were fine?" Sherlock asked, nodding at the chocolate.

"Yeah, but this one had a bad flavour. Almost like...you know when you get hit with a jinx, and you have a bad flavour in your mouth after?"

"Of course," Sherlock replied.

"Well, it tasted like that."

"They aren't magical candies, are they?" Sherlock asked, switching seats so he could better study the chocolate.

"I don't think so," Victor wrinkled his nose. "But you never really know with Je-"

Sherlock looked up when Victor abruptly cut off, and his stomach plummeted.

Victor had vanished into thin air, the box of chocolates the only evidence he had been there at all.


End file.
